I remember catching my first first trout as a young boy on Lake Curlew in WA. My great grandfather took my brother and I out early one morning. The newness of sitting on a small aluminum boat. The fog dancing across the calm glass-like water. The cold brisk early air ripped through our clothing. We kept warm with hot cocoa. The fish where jumping like crazy and that was the first time I felt the fight of a fish on my line. I remember reeling in what felt like a monster fish, but the reality was that it was a pretty small rainbow trout. Splashing like crazy, we got the fish into the boat. Wide eyed. Excited. I remember vividly yelling across the lake and holding up my first catch “WE GOT ONE DAD!” My dad laughed from the shore. “You’re gonna scare off the rest of ‘em!” Soon thereafter, my brother got one, and I got one again. The proudest moment was grilling them up and having them for dinner that night.

I’ll never forget that experience and how proud my great grandfather was. That day was the beginnings of my love for the outdoors.